


Beyond Compare

by Eloquentish



Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek, Star Trek: Into Darkness - Fandom
Genre: Death, Killing, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Sexual Content, Violence, lots of unresolved everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eloquentish/pseuds/Eloquentish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Harrison (Khan) crashes in London back 500 years, and lands where Dr. John Watson resides after the loss of his best friend, Sherlock Holmes. A strange relationship blossoms between the two. Or three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Trailer 1 (Season 3 Sherlock spoiler ALERT)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/33863) by Eloquentish. 



> I don't know much about Star Trek besides what I saw in STID, so the references should be taken lightly. I will do my best to make this as authentic as possible for both fandoms. There won't be too much Star Trek references because it's in the universe of BBC Sherlock. Note: This Khan is not Khan Noonien Singh because the movie never made it clear. So I want to respect that borderline for that category of fans. I still used it to establish the relation to Star Trek into Darkness in the tags but that's all. I made the summary vague as I could to not spoil too much. It is a WIP at the moment but I have a good handle on it. It will be a long story! I hope you enjoy this as much as I will! Please do comment since I truly love to drown in it. (Edit: I removed the warnings because Benedict himself admitted he was Khan and most have seen the movie by now. Thank you.)

 

 

 

* * *

 

It was the sound of chaos that awoke Dr. John Watson in the middle of the night in his small humble cottage off in the woods of London. He had been experiencing a nightmare, the same one that always occurred every night. It was the one where Sherlock jumped off the roof of St. Bartholamew’s Hospital, landing with a deafening smash, causing his blood to spill on John. Even though John wasn’t close enough for such splatter all over his face and clothes in the actual event that happened two years ago, in the nightmare he was suddenly drenched in Sherlock’s blood, holding his friend and crying as hundreds of arms tried to drag him into the cement ground along with Sherlock’s cold decaying corpse.

Another type of sonic noise startled him from his wandering mind, causing him to get out of bed in his cotton pajamas which were over his sweaty body. He looked out the window in his bedroom, quietly searching for any traces of activity but found nothing. It was silent for a long moment until a bright light behind the trees caught his attention once again. As a reflex, John grabbed his hand gun from the dresser, held his walking cane in the other hand, and quickly put on his brown coat to find out what this strange gut feeling might be. He was drawn to this buzzing purple light that illuminated the tall circling trees, casting strange shadows everywhere.

“Don’t panic. You may be the only human being for miles on end in these woods but that doesn’t mean you’re doomed. This could be just a satellite that crashed.” John quietly spoke to himself as he held tight onto his gun in one hand which pushed past branches and leaves while he tried to not think about the pain that was shooting up his leg.

The cold yet still breeze of the midnight ambience chilled John Watson to the bones but he kept a strong stance never the less. He was not one to cower for any reasons beyond doubt. Suddenly he remembered the eerie vision of the demonic hound that travelled the woods of Baskerville and concluded that that fictitious mirage was much scarier than whatever laid beyond the trees. His gut kicked him when he remembered Sherlock having a blast scaring the bloody hell out of him that time in the laboratory. It was a memory he wished he still didn’t have for it was not resentment but fondness of the memory that hurt him. His lack of anger towards Sherlock for all his misgivings was only leveled by his own self-hatred for not having been able to stop the events that led to his fall. He hated himself for just standing there that moment, unable to say the words he always felt but could never reveal, even to himself. John wanted to tell him everything that moment. Even when there was nothing John could do to stop any of it, he hoped that his words might have made a difference. John imagined talking Sherlock back to the door, downstairs, and meeting him at the side walk, awkwardly waiting for some sort of revelation from each other. John swallowed the stinging feeling in his throat down deciding to put it aside for now as the moment called him to step past the barricade of trees. The final net of branches that were pulled apart by his hands revealed an astonishing discovery. There in the midst of broken trees and smashed gravel sat a space ship the size of his house and its purple light was coming from an opening where the door once should have been.

“What the bloody hell-“ John Watson carefully worked his cane towards the ship which was throwing off electric whips and crackles into the night air. There was a fair amount of smoke coming from what seemed to be the engines of the ship located at the bottom of the upright contraption. Its sleek black coat had a golden marking on it in an alien symbol that spoke nothing to John. He wondered if this could be his first real contact with extra-terrestrial life form from another galaxy with advanced civilizations. But instead of finding a green monster with tentacles and a giant brain, John Watson was awe stricken with the discovery of a human man lying unconscious, or possibly dead, inside the space ship. The dark haired man was faced down on the floor of the space ship and his clothing was also just as dark. The only fair part of him was his skin which was currently bruised with red scratches and blotches around his hands and neck. John was an experienced army doctor who would normally be quick to act but this odd occurrence had led him astray in his decisions. He did succeed in snapping out of his dilemma and quickly began to check the dark haired, possibly 6 feet - possibly alien, man for his pulse. With a resounding sigh of relief, John declared the man alive in his head and proceeded to try to wake him.

“Hello? Are you alright? Can you hear me?” John didn’t want to move the body in case of any serious damage but when there was no response from his light taps on the back, and the ship which was starting to crumble and malfunction; John had no choice but to grab the man’s right arm. John hoisted the weight of the man over his shoulder and carried him outside to safety, not realizing his cane was left inside the ship. “Aren’t you a heavy bloke?” John gasped as he did his best to bring the man to a patch of soft grass and gently set him lying on his back. At that moment everything in his body froze as his eyes finally caught the sight of the man’s face.

The small bloody scar on the broad forehead lead his gaze to the familiar devilish hair lines, the furrowed thick eye brows, the long lashes, the sharp cheekbones, the prominent straight nose, the deep cupid’s bow lips, and the all-around perfect structure of the face of Sherlock Holmes laid before him in a dishevelled unconscious state. Standing in utmost shock and bewilderment, John Watson couldn’t mutter a single word out of his open mouth. He wondered if this was a horrible trick, or if it was all a sinister prank by someone who wanted to test John, to mock him for his attachment to Sherlock Holmes. Maybe it was a new kind of nightmare that he was currently in right now but unaware of. John didn’t have any more time to think things through as the ship blew a fuse and the sound of breaking metal caused John to drop on top of the man who looked so much like Sherlock, and shield him from any flying debris. The ship did indeed explode with a sickening crack of purple blaze covering the entire meadow along with its parts of dented metal. Luckily none of it had landed on John who was still tightly covering the man’s head with his own head and arms as the rest of his body was bridged over him.

The man was still breathing when John had piggy backed him back to his cottage and placed his well-muscled body onto John’s bed. He made a mental note of how this space man was much bulkier than Sherlock had been with his slim and tender yet sculpted shape. It was possible that this man was a stunt double who just happened to look so much like Sherlock. The only way John would know would be to check for the mole on his neck. Sherlock had a special little mole at the side of his neck and it couldn’t be possible for a stunt double to be so exact. John didn’t bother to ask for permission since the man was unconscious anyways as he pulled the tight turtle neck down, showing an adam’s apple and right near it the famous mole.

“This can’t be. It’s not possible... No. For all of the shit Sherlock has come up with, this one… This can’t be you.” John felt the heaving pain in his chest and he pulled himself away from the too familiar Sherlock Holmes. He tried desperately to not to let the tears flow. He held himself stiff for a long moment, listening to the shallow breathing from the body behind him, and he found it oddly comforting. John began to slowly register that this may be a miracle in disguise. This was Sherlock Holmes. It has to be. It’s reasonable to say that after two years, whatever happened to him, made him what he was now. Also considering the space ship; Sherlock probably got into all sorts of trouble while away. Maybe it wasn’t aliens but the government. Maybe Mycroft had sent his brother off on a top secret space mission for some crazy reason and Sherlock found it best to just leave John for good after the convenient encounter with Moriarty. Maybe Sherlock was never supposed to come back and something went terribly wrong in space. “I really need to stop reading sci-fi fanfictions.” John sighed at the fact that this was what his life had been reduced to after Sherlock. The constant blogging of meaningless things, internet fanfictions, porn, occasional movies online, and just a whole mess of solitude that helped him cope with the reality of Sherlock’s death. He stopped looking to therapy a long time ago and found that seclusion would fit him best since everyone else who knew him and Sherlock closely kept bothering him and trying to comfort him. It had been too much for him to handle and he could still remember the day Mrs. Hudson smiled weakly at him as her usually vibrant and youthful gaze was aged and tired. It was full of comfort yet sadness and John knew he was the one guilty for that. But he needed to run and so he did. He needed to get out of the place which was a toxic reminder of Sherlock and the days they spent together, solving cases, arguing, laughing, and at rare moments; bonding. And John concluded after two years of contemplation, it was something beyond partners or flatmates or even friendship that they shared… had shared.

John thought he could never discuss any of this with Sherlock ever again but now he could. He could finally look at Sherlock and tell him everything he had pent up for the past years and more, even from the first time they met. Though the most urgent matter at the moment was cleaning Sherlock’s wounds and checking for any serious concussions. John went straight to preparing a wash cloth as well as grabbing his aid kit that he kept in the washroom for emergencies. He had set up everything needed to begin but it took quite a bit of hesitation to take off Sherlock’s uniform even though John was a doctor and this would be the most reasonable step for a medical check-up. Ignoring all his frustrations, John pulled off the possibly-Sherlock’s uniform, displaying the hard sculpted pecks and abdomen, along with the handsome amount of biceps that made John irritable in unmentionable parts of his body. The oddest thing that struck him about this man’s body was the ability to heal so quickly. His wounds were already half what they were when John had found him.

“Can’t be Sherlock. Not possible.” John exhaled suddenly realizing he had been holding his breath in. He observed that there was no serious damage to the body and cleaned whatever cuts and scratches it had. After a couple minutes, the task was done and there was nothing to do but stare at the pale, striking man who was only in his pants which were rolled up to his knees. The elevation of his broad chest when he breathed made John immensely blissful because in his eyes it was Sherlock before him; alive and safe. John drew the duvet over the strikingly handsome version of Sherlock and slowly got up from his chair.

With a look back at the still and slumbering body, John decided to head to bed as well. He paused for a bit, wondering if it would be too much to just get in bed with the man but he immediately snapped himself out of it, shaking his head. Turning his body towards the sofa in the other room, John quietly slipped into a shawl and slept soundly for the first time in two years.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The most painful goodbyes are the ones that are never said and never explained.”

“Maybe _miracle_ was the wrong word for this.” John Watson thought when he opened his eyes the next morning to find his house in shambles. 

He sprang right out of his couch, tripping over a pile of his good coats that had somehow ended up there and yet he still managed to fall face first on something hard and flat. When he looked, it was none other than his laptop, luckily still in good condition. Watson picked himself up from the coat pile, trying to grasp the situation at hand. With a hasty gawk at every direction around his house, John was unable to tell where that man had gone. He made a turn towards the bedroom, expecting it to be empty and trashed the same way his living room was. 

“What in the world-“ John choked on his words soon as he entered the room to find the man sitting on the edge of his bed. Silence struck them both, as crystal blue-green met the colour of sky. Their eyes were dancing around each other’s features and slightest expressions. John blinked once; his gaze was now on Sherlock who was dressed in his striped jumpers. “What are you doing in my clothes?” 

“What did you do with my ship?” It was the first time in ages John had heard that same overwhelmingly rich, and baritone voice. It made his heart full and he was unable to contain his joy. He took a single step forward but that was all before the deadpan tone paralysed him. “Where is it?”

As he stared in silence at Sherlock’s messy black hair, his plump pink lips and his furrowed eyebrows over his beautiful deep blue eyes, John felt the contrasting aura of a killer. He could feel the dominating presence which emanated with the intent to decapitate a person at any given moment without a single hesitation. It was different. John couldn’t put his finger on it but this man was truly overwhelming with power.

“I didn’t…ahem. I didn’t do anything to it. It’s out in the woods but I must warn you it’s in bad shape.” _Unlike you._ John thought. There was no trace of any cuts or bruises from last night. It was as if he’d never crashed a ship in the first place.

“Bad? How bad? I must go see it.” And before John could open his mouth and answer, Sherlock dashed past him, knocking him down for the second time this morning. John was left on the floor, already in a sour mood.

“Arse.”

***

 

Once John had caught up, Sherlock was rummaging through the broken ship, throwing out bits and pieces all around the grass. John quietly stood, his eyes scrunched in the bright sun, contemplating whether he should go over there or say something first. While he had been lost in his thoughts, Sherlock had already appeared in front of him with a device in his hand. He held up the object before John. 

“Do you know what this is?” 

“Looks like a container?” John answered, studying the cylinder shaped, silver metal with his eyes but at a slight discomfort since the sun was being reflected right off of it. The man dropped his hand and sighed, brushing his jet black hair back with the other. 

“What year is it exactly?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What _year_ , Dr. Watson! Are you honestly that stupid?” 

“I know what you said but it still sounds mad doesn’t it, Sherlock?” John held his mouth soon as that name slipped out. The piercing stare from the man's crystal blue eyes softened, as if trying to figure out what connection the name had to him. “2013.” John tried recovering from his outburst. He pretended to scratch his chin. “May.” 

There was no acknowledgement. No response. Not even a blink. 

With small sigh, John kept his hands in a tight fist by his side while the man whom he still referred to as Sherlock, in his mind, went back into the ship. John stood quietly, unable to utter a word as his strange friend began to collect devices and high tech equipment from the ship, and carried them back inside a large box into his cottage. During that moment, John made note of how incredibly strong the man was as he could carry about three times his weight when he was moving damaged parts of the ship out of his way. This sort of strength was definitely not human. As John realized this, his hopes of the man being Sherlock became tinier and tinier until he couldn’t bare the idea anymore and just grazed his palms down his face, pressing his temples with his fingertips in a way of massaging the tension out of it.

*** 

There wasn’t much to say between the two of them. John was idle and about in his usual business, but this time he was actually typing away at full speed on his laptop, while the genius in his room was working on something highly complicated for over an hour. Whenever John peered over the monitor, the only thing he could see was the broad towering back and his lowered head that sat handsomely on his sculpted body. John looked back at his monitor and was about to finish updating his blog when his laptop was suddenly snatched away from him. It left him shocked at the fact that he’d been easily sneaked up on. 

“Hey, I was-“ 

“You won’t need this anymore.” 

There was a whipping low snap when his laptop was broken apart to reveal its interior. _The monster did not even bother using a screw!_ John dropped his jaw; eyes wide in horror at his most treasured item now a piece of reusable part for one of Sherlock's experiments. 

“My laptop!” 

“Aluminum…useless. But the hardrive may be of some use.” He spoke aloud to himself, ignoring John. 

“Hey.”

“I could remodel the properties and use it as a semi-conductor…but I’ll need something larger than this.” He rambled on as he tossed around the broken laptop in his hands like it weighed nothing. 

“Will you stop and listen for a second?!” John yelled as he grabbed his broken laptop but was unable to even budge it loose from the man’s grasp. He kept trying, putting all his strength into the pull but gave up soon enough, red in the ears. “You can’t just go around breaking whatever you find.” John huffed, fixing his shirt. 

“Dr. Watson, you should be grateful that that’s all I have broken in the last 12 hours.” 

“How do you know my name?” _And what do you mean by that?_ John decided he wouldn’t want to find out anyway. 

“Your wallet told me.” 

Without a single thought, John felt his pant pockets, groping himself and instantly felt stupid when he realized he was still in his pajamas. He looked up at the taller man, and held out his hand for his wallet with a condescending look. 

“Your license expired last June, I suggest you renew it.” The man said as he handed the wallet back to John. 

“I- I can’t drive.” 

“You mean you _don’t_ drive. It’s obvious with that walking cane I found in my ship. But look at you now, perfectly fine standing on your own. You’ve got a psychosomatic limp. Quite pitiful.” He stared down at John, superciliously.

“Shut up. Stop this! Stop acting like-“

“Sherlock? You said the name before and I assumed it was your lover.”

“Friend. He was my friend.”

“Was?”

“He committed suicide.” 

There was no feeling in him the moment it slipped out. It had numbed him. It hung in the air; a dry, blaring secret that was released after years of silence. It wasn’t until after he blinked had he realized tears were drilling down his face. The hovering words struck him; a heavy stab right into his heart, making him unable to stop the fall of his tears. Feeling completely demolished and frail in that moment, John only did what he could do. He slowly steadied himself onto his knees. The tears rushed through his eyes and decanted onto his knuckles which turned white as they clutched onto the fabric of his pants. The outburst was beyond his control. He couldn’t calm down. It felt as if the air was sucked out of his lungs as his heart depleted from the shot of those words. The tremors were starting in his hand and rooting up his arm. All in that time, the only thing he could do was quietly break apart in front of the man who looked so much like his dead friend. It was too cruel of a joke. Having the only person he loved in front of him and knowing that it wasn’t them. It could never be them. No matter how hard he wished Sherlock, _his_ Sherlock, were alive; the truth was staring right at his face with a hard expression lacking of any emotion. “I-I’m so sorry.” It came out as a tiny whisper but audible enough for the other man to hear. 

“Don’t apologize for feeling, Dr. Watson.” John felt the man lower his body to his level, resting on one knee. “You must have held off for a long time. The wound is still fresh as if you just got them yesterday.” 

No matter how hard John tried, he couldn’t balance his breathing. He closed his eyes, face to the floor, and tried lessening the tension in his shoulders but it only heaved once again when he breathed in. His face scrunched at the failed response of his own body. 

“It was not my intention to make you cry. I owe you an apology.” 

With as much strength as he could muster, John held his hand up to tell him to stop. _Stop thinking it’s your fault. I did this to myself. I’m the one who should apologize for making someone deal with this._ “Don’t.” 

*** 

After John had composed himself from the long overdue meltdown, he was seated on the sofa, having wrapped himself in his shawl. The taller man had his back resting against the wall across the room. His arms were crossed and his eyes were fixated on John.

“In order to save you the trouble of mixing us up again, I’ll tell you my name.” He finally spoke. “My name is John Harrison. And I come from the future.” 

“Don’t tell me everyone in the future is named John?”

John wasn’t sure but he could have sworn he saw a twist at the corner of Harrison’s lips. Was that a smile? But it was so quick that the same cold stare might have never left in the first place. 

“I need to get back. My family needs me.” Harrison’s tone was apprehensive yet there was something in that demeanor that made John unable to sympathize with him. He moved towards John and sat on a chair across from him. 

“Family?” John was surprised at the use of the word and he wondered if his question sounded too rude. John hadn’t pegged him as a family man. 

“Yes. They’re in trouble and I’m their only hope.” 

“What happened to them?” John pursed his lips, and raised his eyebrows together subconsciously as he always did when he was truly curious.

Harrison paused, contemplating on how he should tell this story to make the best use of his situation. There was no point in killing the army doctor since he posed no threat to Harrison’s plans to wreak havoc in this primitive era. It would be easier than anything he had done before. Yet on the other spectrum, he found that he had no need for this broken soldier. What use would he be? Entertainment? It was too soon to decide. So John Harrison simply stuck with a story that would answer enough of his question without having to tell all of the truth. 

“We are genetically engineered super humans created in a time of war to keep the peace. But once the war was over, people of Earth started to see us as a threat. I was captain of a Starfleet sworn to protect Earth from any danger, yet my crew and I were forced into cryogenic capsules to sleep for hundreds of years. Fortunately they had made a mistake with mine, and I managed to escape. When they found out, the government threatened to blast all 72 members of my crew into a nearby giant star to capture me. So I went to them, at warp speed, and somehow the star’s magnetic field must have interfered with my ship’s coordinates because it shot me towards a wormhole. And the rest, you know is history.”

“Do you think they’ll keep your crew members alive since they lost you?” John was so awed at the story he had just heard that he didn’t consider the impact of his words. Harrison interlaced his long fingers together and subtly clenched his jaw. 

“The government has no choice but to keep us alive if they want protection. But I can’t tell you any more than this. It could alter the future in ways we can’t control.” 

“Understood.” John got up from his seat while he stretched and curled his fingers subconsciously; his arms were hanging by his side, as Harrison noticed. “Would you like some tea?”

“That would be much appreciated. Thank you, Dr. Watson.” Harrison leaned back in his chair, placing his right hand over his chin, lightly grazing his slender, long fingers across and watched John putting the kettle to work in the kitchen. His eyes were focused, learning all he could about John Watson. John Watson the army doctor; the bisexual; the 37 year old British bachelor; the broken soldier; the man with the post-traumatic stress disorder; and lastly but surprisingly, the one person he felt at peace around. There was something about Dr. John Watson that intrigued Harrison yet he couldn’t say what it was. A minute ago Harrison had found the man predictable and pathetic, but after having seen his subtle reactions and the way the doctor’s eyes lit up when talking about strange new things, something stirred inside Harrison. Even though it had been so small it was almost unnoticed by the perfect being himself. 

“Here you go. I make a mean cuppa, you know.” John smirked as he handed one to Harrison and sat down. 

“You aren’t completely wrong about that.” Harrison added after taking a sip. He put the steaming tea cup back down on the table and faced his attention to John Watson who kept his lips to the edge of his tea cup. “So tell me, what is there to do around here?” 

“Not much really. The nearest town is a few miles away, and these woods are filled with wild life. Sometimes I see bears but they’re not dangerous if you leave them alone. Uhm, I take walks along the riverbed, it’s quite nice. It’s clean enough to swim in and there is an abundance of fish. I remember I caught a big one few weeks ago. I couldn’t stomach the thought of chopping it into pieces and cooking it so I let it swim away.” John stopped talking and examined Harrison’s expression to see if he’d been bored already. But Harrison continued to look at him with focus as if hearing these things were actually interesting. 

“What else do you do?” 

It made John want to tell him everything. That tone was immensely exclusive and riveting in its impact on John’s skin, creating goose bumps. He tried to hide his grin but failed. 

“I used to blog. I can’t anymore,” John eyed his laptop sitting at the table by the window. "but I like to write.” 

“What do you write about?” Harrison nonchalantly ignored the look John had given him.

“Nothing really. Nothing happens to me.” 

“Until recently…” Harrison shifted his eyes towards his teacup. John hadn’t realized but Harrison had already emptied it. “But you mustn’t share it on the web. There are spiders everywhere, Dr. Watson.”

John shivered suddenly at the mention of the word. It reminded him of Jim Moriarty; the man who caused Sherlock’s fall. His stomach turned at the thought of it. Harrison noticed the change in John’s behaviour and decided to leave the topic alone.

“I plan to fix my ship and return to the future as soon as possible. I’ll need some advanced equipment besides your outdated laptop.” 

“Well you won’t find anything here.”

Harrison got up from his seat and left the room. John sat in silence, confused. Was he going to trash his house once again? Soon enough, Harrison came back holding something small in his hand. He tossed it at John who caught it with one hand in mid-air. John looked at the silver thing and realized it was his car keys. Harrison must have found it in his cupboard in the bedroom. He really needed to teach the guy about personal boundaries.

John looked reluctantly at Harrison who was already at the door. His body was half way out as he turned to face John. It slipped out more as a command than a suggestion; “Let’s go. You’re driving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of trouble with this one. I added things and re-edited this more than any of my essays in my whole academic career. John Harrison is just a whole mess of things and my desire to perfectly articulate every way he exists is making me go crazy. I had two roads I could go down and I'm still debating. I hope this chappy was at least okay. I didn't want Harrison to be irrationally voilent from the getgo and I'm sure many can agree that that's not who he is. He is human afterall. Though he's perfect as fuc-. Seriously, Benedict Cumberbatch tho.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I appreciate the concern but I am not in the least bit sad, Dr. Watson.”

Brookeville was a quiet town that seemed to be stuck in time. It had an old chapel; a few warehouses; a neglected train station; couple shops and restaurants. And if explored further into the west end; there were motels and apartments. There weren’t many people around at early noon considering their day jobs required them a lot of travelling to better locations, and it was the same case for schooling since there wasn’t a single child around. John watched Harrison step out of the car first, scouring the area with his eyes as he closed the door behind him. Then as John got out, he made sure to lock everything since it was highly possible to get car jacked in this neighbourhood. John had been here a couple times to stock up on amenities but it almost always resulted in some item of his being stolen without his knowing. He had later resorted to delivery and luckily in this town anyone was up for decently paid labour. Brookeville wasn’t known for much and if it ever was in the news, it involved drug trafficking and the like. 

The car had been parked in a lot outside of a large warehouse called “Carpet Diem”. The two men made their way towards the populated part of town and soon came across the smell of sewage travelling up the street. The sun was high yet faint in warmth and there was minor cloud coverage. Summer in Brookeville was mild and it wasn’t until mid-July that it was truly blaring hot. At the right side of the rode was a diner that John had been to once when he first arrived in Brookeville. The small place had a rusted sign on top in bold, black letters over a wooden board painted putrid green that read, ‘Bread in Brooke”, which John thought was not too clever but catchy nonetheless. 

“I thought you might be hungry. I know I am.” John held the door open, waiting for Harrison to step in. “My treat.”

“I won’t be eating. My body doesn’t require it.”

“Well, my body does.” John said as he followed Harrison into the restaurant. They sat down at a booth with a view of the street. The sun lightened up the gloomy place which only had two other customers at a faraway table, quietly discussing their daily business. It was a quiet morning and everything outside the windows appeared calm. There wasn’t any sense of urgency or danger so John relaxed his hands on the table which was concealed by a red cotton sheet, worn out through the ages. He looked at the menu which was a single laminated paper with a couple breakfast items. When John had decided, he looked at Harrison who didn’t bother doing anything else but stare out into the streets. 

A middle aged waitress came to them and took John’s order which entailed steak with a side of jam on toast. He was pleasantly surprised when Harrison ordered tea at least. With a tiny sense of accomplishment, John unknowingly continued to admire Harrison’s features. He was looking out the window, never paying attention to anything inside. The disconnection was hard for John Watson and it only fueled him to stare at the man’s broad, well defined shoulders; his long neck rising from his strong collarbones; his sharp, firm jawline, and finally his soft lips that were a lighter pink in the sun which made his complexion almost radiant. The sight of this handsome being, who resembled Sherlock perfectly yet very differently, made John lose his ability to moderately breathe. John quickly straightened his back, fixing his gaze on some imaginary lint on his own grey sleeve and flicked it away as he sensed a pair of eyes focused on him. The waitress smiled at him from across the room. He cleared his throat, a little too loud. Harrison still paid no attention to him, and John couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Do you always do that?” John asked, finally breaking the silence.

“What?” Harrison responded, setting his crystal blue eyes on John. 

“That look.”

“What look?”

“Your face is a rock; unmoving. And honestly, you look a little sad…”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” 

“I appreciate the concern but I am not in the least bit sad, Dr. Watson.”

“Just call me John.”

“I prefer Dr. Watson. We aren’t friends…barely acquaintances.”

John was quiet for a while. The slight hurt in him made it hard to respond and he simply looked away towards the cashier register. It’s not like he was expecting anything but he at least assumed they were on good terms. What other things did he read wrong? John couldn’t face Harrison again as the moment passed for too long. In due time, but not soon enough, his order was ready. The waitress arrived, smiled slightly as she said ‘enjoy’ and left. John picked up his fork and knife, not looking the least bit hungry. 

Harrison clenched his jaws as he reflected on his own statement, feeling oddly irritated at the silent treatment. _How did this man make him so…untactful?_ He picked up his teacup and took a sip. Immediately it tasted stale and it lacked the quality that John’s tea had. He put the cup down, not bothering to touch it again. Human sustenance was an alien entity to his body and even though it did him no harm; it always left him feeling rather strange. Being a superior genetically engineered human allowed John Harrison to go without needing consumption of any kind of food. He did, however, need to drink fluids time to time. The silence was beginning to become unbearable, and Harrison assumed there no point in being stubborn in this scenario. 

“Jo-“

“I guess it wouldn’t make any sense to call each other John, now would it? People would get us confused.” John smiled as he put down his utensils. With a loose hand, he pointed at himself and Harrison back and forth, wiggling his index finger about, still chewing. “I mean look at us. We are both tall, attractive, and both brilliant. It’s no wonder the confusion we might cause.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Harrison played along, feeling relieved that he didn’t need to fake sincerity in another forced apology. 

“That’s a good one, yeah.” John smiled half-heartedly as he finished his meal. 

Out the corner of his eyes, Harrison caught sight of a man spying on them from the sidewalk. As soon as his face turned towards them, the figure dipped behind the corner of a building. Someone was watching them. For what reason; Harrison did not know yet. But he was planning to find out as he quickly stood and ran for the door. John almost spat out his food but managed to wipe his mouth with a napkin. He then stood up as well, rustling his hands in his pocket and released a handful of pounds onto the table and followed pursuit after Harrison. 

“Where did he run off to?”

The streets were occupied by a number of cars and some pedestrians but none of them looked like a runaway madman to John. With every step he took, panic consumed him. In seconds his heartbeat started to race, his hands became numb, and his mind started flying wild with thoughts of impending danger. John could see buildings all around but calculated that they were four stories high at the most. But that wasn’t helping him at all, not even the least bit. _Not again._ His steps turned from a sprint to a jog and slowly strides that stopped hopelessly in the middle of the sidewalk. He must have run three blocks by now and how far had Harrison ran off? 

John Watson was lost; his legs were firmly planted on the ground as he gasped for air. Strangers walked past, brushing by his shoulders as John felt the familiar pain shoot up his leg. 

“Damn my leg!” John snapped. An old lady shook slightly at the sound of his yell as she hurried past. “Sorry.” It wasn’t a sincere apology and he couldn’t think about the people on the street right now. His hand rested on his thigh, holding tightly onto the constricting muscle. John kept telling himself quietly that it would pass. It has to.

In that moment he heard a blood curdling scream few buildings down, making him forget his worries. Other people faced the direction it came from and agitation was plastered on their faces. John ran as fast as he could towards it, hoping to god it wasn’t from Harrison. 

When he arrived at a large, darkened passageway, John was afflicted by the sight of a killer strangling his victim to death. 

“STOP!”

The ragged clothed man was released, gasping for his last strand of air while trying to crawl away from his attacker. John ran up to Harrison, his face in utter disbelief at what he’d just witnessed. 

“Why?” John yelled, exasperated. He pointed at the homeless man who was desperately clinging onto his chest, trying to stand up. But John did not look as he was focused on Harrison who seemed unreadable, almost detached from the moment. “You were going to _kill_ him.” 

“I wasn’t going to kill him. He was following us. He had this in his hands.” Harrison took out a shiny device and John looked at it in complete puzzlement. 

“A cellphone? You almost strangled this homeless man to death for having a cellphone?” John returned his attention the victim but found that they’d already ran off. 

“Good work. Now I can’t question him any further.” Harrison said with an air of disapproval towards John as an older boy would to a four year old kid who just ruined his best shirt.

“And that’s how you question people? By strangling them with your bare hands? Really? Hey! I’m talking to you!” John strode after Harrison who was walking away and grabbed onto his arm. Soon as they stopped, John saw two police officers running towards them from where he’d entered previously. “Run.” 

To John’s surprise, Harrison did not run. He simply held onto John’s wrist and pulled him back a little too roughly, his eyes engulfing John into obedience. “If we run, then we’re guilty. Let’s try to convince the officers first.” 

John couldn’t believe it but he stood, letting go of Harrison’s arm and faced the two gasping officers who had their bellies past their belts. He stood beside Harrison who seemed to be casually waiting; his chin high with authoritative hospitality.

“What’s going on here, gentlemen?” The larger officer of the two asked. His black mustache had traces of white icing which John assumed was from donuts. His facial hair looked as if the remains from his balding head had landed on his mouth.

“My friend here has a bad leg and it was acting up just a moment ago. We were on our way to the hospital.” Harrison put on such a convincing act that John almost coughed. 

“Are you alright?” The second officer asked John.

“Yes. Better now, thank you, sir.” John nodded shortly. 

“We heard from pedestrians that it was a horrifying scream, as if someone was dying.” The same officer said as he glanced up at Harrison. “Or being murdered.”

“I see no corpses lying around.” Harrison added. 

“I don’t recognize you two. Newly moved in? We’d know about that wouldn’t we, Chet?” The less pudgy of the two spoke, making sure to keep a hand over his holster. His eyes were drooping with bags from countless sleepless nights. In any other dangerous situation, it was most likely he’d be the first one to shoot somebody. 

“We’re from the city, only here for a short while. Is there anything else we can help you with, officers?” John cut in, realizing this was going to go wrong soon if he didn’t convene. 

“No. That’s all. You two can run along on your little date now.” Officer Chet sneered while pulling up his belt, and puffed out his chest. 

“I’m not his date.” John corrected but it was overshadowed by Harrison’s words.

“Will do, officer.” Harrison replied. Not a hint of doubt or sarcasm was evident on his face which made John turn his head abruptly towards him and gawk. 

The two officers gave each other a look before awkwardly bidding the couple goodbye. They never bothered looking back as they walked a little too quickly. John could feel the blood rushing to his ears as his cheek was brushed with imaginary hot air. 

 

* * * 

 

They were headed back to his car empty handed. John wondered what it was that Harrison was looking for in this town the past hour but he couldn’t get a single word out of him. It seemed that what he was searching for couldn't be found. On the other hand, John still hadn't let the previous incident go. It was bothering him more than it should. 

“You didn’t have to say that.” John started. He stood in front of Harrison, giving his most convincing investigative expression. “Why did you say that?”

“I refuse to let imbeciles have the last laugh.” 

“Yes because we’re the ones laughing now, right?” John scoffed.

“Why do you care about what others think of you?” 

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Can we please just-“ John froze once he turned around, spotting the eerie sign on his car doors. There it was, blaring in bright yellow painted over the black surface of his car. The familiar sign he could never erase from his memory after two years.

“A drawing of a happy face…” Harrison said, stepping up to the car and studying the spray paint closely. “It’s still fresh. It’s-”

“Michigan, hardcore propellant… made of _zinc_.” John recited coldly.

“How did you know?” 

“We should go. Now!” But John couldn’t move as a shooting pain rushed through his heart and suddenly his vision began to blur. His legs became slack like a thread disjointed by an unknown force, making him lose his balance. “We need…to..” It was difficult to conjure up proper sentences, making John feel useless as he could still tell Harrison was there; seeing him like this.

“Watson!” Harrison grabbed a hold of John’s shoulders as he fell. His voice was evident in repressed concern. He could feel John give out in his hands, his whole weight dropping to the floor but Harrison easily held him up. John’s eyes were glazed over and rolling out of focus, his face started to pale, and his lips were purpling at the edges. Judging by those symptoms, Harrison concluded John had been poisoned. He could die any minute.

John was in a lot of pain. His world began to turn dark; the corners of his eyes were closing and opening undecidedly. His voice was being eradicated by the burning acid in his throat. And the last thing he saw before he shut his eyes was Sherlock’s distraught face, yelling something, something important but he couldn’t hear. Was this another nightmare? Was he going to wake up again, all alone? 

Then, white noise filled him as it devoured his senses.

_Sherlock?_

 

 

*** 

 

“Captain Kirk!” A fiery headed boy in his red Starfleet uniform approached the older man, urgency written across his freckled young face. “Mr. Sulu finally has the coordinates.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Chekov. You’re dismissed.” Kirk nodded once and began to head towards the door.

“But we have one little problem.” Chekov exclaimed, stopping the other man in his tracks. He waited until Chekov could find the right words since he was hesitating. “’We can’t follow him. There is a 0.000000001 percent chance that we’d ever find him, let alone capture him.’ That’s what Mr. Spock said.” Chekov explained quickly, his quirky accent sliding over each word as he let out a hard exhale.

“Well, there's still a one in there somewhere so it's worth the shot. I’ll go speak to him.”

“But captain-“

“Chekov, right now I need you to keep an eye on the ship for me. Can you do that?” 

“Y-yes, Captain. I can do that.” 

“Good.” Kirk smiled at the boy who was more or less about to blow a fuse from all the multitasking he had to do while Scotty was on his long deserved vacation. The funny part of it being that Scotty was still in the Enterprise, pretending to relax but working vicariously through Chekov, who doesn’t know how to say no to the Scottish senior when asked to do something for him. 

Kirk made his way through the hall, and then got into the elevator to find he was not alone. 

“Speak of the pointy eared devil.” Kirk muttered to himself as he stepped in.

“Did you say something, Captain? I didn’t quite hear.”

“Mr.Spock! Just the Vulcan I wanted to see.” 

“I am the only Vulcan on this ship.”

They did not say anything until the doors opened and the two made their way into the command center. 

“Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock entering the bridge.” Kirk announced. He then faced Spock who was walking beside him. “It’s been two weeks since we lost him. Two weeks of searching in dead space.”

“I’m aware of that, Captain.”

“Are you also aware of the fact that we have to arrest him and take him back to Earth?”

“The thought never left my mind.”

“Then you agree we should go after Khan.” 

“I strongly disagree. We have a better chance at spontaneously combusting than to find Khan, if he's managed to survive at all. The effects of a wormhole can be catastrophic and inconceivable.”

“Mr. Sulu found the coordinates of an ionic storm with remnants of Khan’s ship drifting around. He's located a wormhole nearby.” 

“It’s highly possible that as soon as Khan had entered it, he was ripped apart atom by atom. That is the only logical outcome.” Kirk wasn’t sure but it almost looked like Spock smiled as he said it. 

“Or he’s still alive and could return any moment with an insatiable thirst for revenge like he did last time. I will not let that happen again.” 

“Correct me if I’m wrong but are you still implying we descend into a wormhole?”

The two men looked at each other briefly, waiting for the other to say something more. The answer was obvious but Kirk couldn’t lift the heavy weight of the words off his lips. 

“Look.” Kirk licked his lips quickly, preparing to say what he had been planning the past two weeks. He pulled Spock to the corner as the rest of the crew were busy with monitoring the ship. He lowered his voice so to not draw any attention. “I won’t risk the lives of my crew again after...that last time.” Spock gave him a hesitant expression and he ignored it. They both knew not to delve into that incident again. “I know how audacious this may sound but I plan to go alone. Call me insane but I have this- it’s not even a feeling, it’s this force that tells me that I have to do this, Spock. There are going to be sacrifices, mainly just me but the Earth is not safe until we have him put into cryogenic sleep for good. It doesn’t matter if I die trying. It’s killing me already to have to wait out the inevitable. You know, a wise friend of mine once told me; the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one… So I have to be the one do this.”

“Then we’ll do it together.”

“No. I can’t let you do that.”

“Why?”

“If anything happens to me, the Enterprise will need a captain. And who better than you, Spock?”

It was very subtle but Spock’s jaw dropped as his eyebrows furrowed. Kirk was almost sure about this one because it looked like Spock was about to slap him upside the head. There was a stretched pause lingering between them and it disappeared when the Vulcan spoke.

“It irritates me immensely that I have to resort to using this tactic but I’m sure it is the only one that will convey my resilience and at the same time have you adhere to it, Captain, for it is the philosophical view of your species-“ Spock took a step closer and breathed in slightly. “I saved your life therefor; you… _owe_ … me.” 

Kirk was dumbfounded, left to glance in silence as Spock walked away with a complacent air about him. At the same time, a smile had formed on his face derived from the response. Kirk couldn’t decide whether he wanted to grab the stubborn Vulcan and shake the bangs off his head or hug him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting! This fic is driving me crazy and I can't help but obsess over every detail and thank you for all the lovely feedback. I truly appreciate it and I hope to keep things interesting for everyone.  
> I don't have much to say about this chapter. No, Spork isn't canon in this fic because I want to focus on the main couple here.   
> Oh, I also made a poster but I won't have it up until some things happen and whatnot. I must remind you all once again that I am building this story as I go and I have only random pieces of the puzzle with me at the moment. The rest come and go.  
> (I saved some of the things that didn't make it to the end product, just so I can see where I was going and didn't go)
> 
>  
> 
> Lots of love-x Eloquentish


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He came closer, knowing John was in no position to come towards him. His long arms embraced John, sending shivers down his spine. It was more than he’d ever need."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four has finally arrived(I don't have a beta so sorry about any mistakes) and I just want to apologize about the wait. Thank you so much for still staying subscribed and I'm trying my best to make this as good as I can. I have a good map of the plot by now and nothing has really changed from what I planned since the last chapter. I also have a little poster for this fanfiction made if you look back at chapter one. Again, thank you so much for all the positive comments. Please let me know if you want longer chapters! I also made a little sideblog on tumblr specifically for my Eloquentish fics. - eloquentish.tumblr.com - if anyone would like to drop in anything they want to say outside of ao3. I'm friendly, really. :)  
> Until next time, xx.

There was not a moment to lose. Every minute counted, every breath he took could be his last. If Harrison hadn’t brought the container along beforehand, John would certainly not survive.

He snatched the silver object he had previously shown John, out of the glove compartment and opened it. The gadget enclosed an injecting needle that was filled with a well preserved dark red fluid. He had done this before. He knew it would work. His blood could cure cancer for god’s sake so why was he stopping?

As John Harrison stood, crouched over the army doctor’s wilted body, and the sun shined on his aged face, the doubt caged in the back of Harrison’s mind broke free. Its sharp claws scraped gaps across Harrison’s chest, slicing open the beating heart that he had buried away deep inside him ever since his slumber. There was no escape from this new found pain, this unrelenting sickness that devoured his conscious like a demon. And it hurt; it hurt more than he’d been prepared for. However it made no sense why?

It was like a shot in the face; sentiment. How could a perfect being such as himself, feel anything for someone so… inferior? John Watson was the most ordinary man he had ever met.

The moment he had woken up it was John Watson who was there, sleeping like a restless dreamer. It was John Watson who took care of him, a complete stranger, without a second thought to the kind of danger that might fall upon him. And out of all the things John Watson could have done, he suggested running away together even after Harrison had tried to kill a man. How was this ordinary man capable of such bravery and trust within such a short time? Or was he truly just an idiot?

It finally dawned on Harrison that maybe he wasn’t just trying to save John but maybe, just maybe he was trying to save himself from the pain of losing John. He shook the thought away, not wanting to believe this discovery.

_Don’t forget why you’re here._

Harrison knew there was no way to distribute the blood in moderation so he stabbed the needle into John’s neck, releasing the dense fluid into his blood stream in a matter of seconds. Somehow, it wouldn’t work for a moment but Harrison breathed a sigh of relief as soon as John’s complexion returned to his normal tanned tone and his chest was elevating regularly once again. The doctor’s lips were returning to its natural red shade and his pulse was at average from the feel of the veins in his wrist. Harrison knew and soon enough John would wake up and stare at him with his murky blue eyes in curiosity of what just happened.

But he didn’t. Ten minutes had already passed and John was still unconscious. He was breathing right and his temperature was regular but there was no movement. With ease, Harrison pulled John into the passenger seat and fastened his seatbelt, making sure he was resting upright. He grabbed the keys from John’s trouser pocket, not even thinking about the fact that it was far too close to that other region. As the ignition started, Harrison accelerated out of the parking lot of Carpet Diem, leaving Brookeville in the dust.

 

  

* * *

 

 

 _It was him. This time it was him for sure._ John was standing with his cane for support while the man whom he long ago thought dead, stood right in front of him.

“I’m home.” Sherlock said softly. He looked the same as always. He had on his long wool coat, his blue scarf, and not to mention those magnificent cheekbones… it was all too-

“Fantastic.”

He came closer, knowing John was in no position to come towards him. His long arms embraced John, sending shivers down his spine. It was more than he’d ever need. Sherlock may not love him but he knew that this was enough to last him a lifetime. So it only surprised him when he felt the softness of those untouchable lips pressed against his own.

“John.” It was quiet, almost brushed off the other man’s warm lips but they both knew how the other felt.

Sherlock pulled John into a much heated kiss, this time sucking at the bottom lip in a most aroused state. John could feel himself melt; his hold on his cane shifted and he wounded up leaning into the taller man, grabbing a handful of his curls. In that instant of contact, John felt something in his hand, it was wet and warm. He looked closely to find the blurred visual of dark red liquid on his hand slowly coming into focus. When his vision finally adjusted to the horrifying realisation of his hand drenched in blood it made him pull away.

“No.” John called but nothing came out. His bones began to shake wildly as he realised that it’s _his_ blood; it was Sherlock’s blood all over his hand and suddenly his face as well. And as the black tears ran down Sherlock’s hollow eyes, John is faced with a pitch black bullet hole in the middle of his lover’s forehead. There is not a single glimmer of life left in his hollow eyes that were animated with the colours of a billion galaxies just a few seconds ago. “Sherlock-”

 

  

“Wake up, John!” A man shouted.

John opened his eyes, gasping from the nightmare. He sat up in his own bed with his back soaked with sweat. There was a figure beside him. They returned the gaze, but he couldn’t tell the expression on their face since it was too dark. A pale hand reached over to the bedside lamp and flicked it on. It was hard to tell whether this was another nightmare but John quickly looked at his previously blood drenched hand which was now devoid of any stain. Then it all came rushing back; the spacecraft; the odd encounter and _him_ …

“Are you alright?” Harrison asked, his voice now a soft baritone compared to his captivating volume moments ago.

“How long was I passed out?” John’s throat felt dry and he sounded far too coarse to say any more. Harrison handed him a glass of water and John gladly chugged it down. After John finished, he placed it on the drawer near his bed, slightly wooden in his movement. “Thank you.”

“You’ve been unconscious the past two days. Fifty three hours, to be precise.” Harrison answered.

“That’s not very good.” John tried to stretch.

“Don’t try to get up.” Harrison held him down by the shoulders, making John realize the cold burn of the other man’s touch on his skin.

“I’m fine.” John was nude from the neck down with only his pants on. He hesitated to ask about his clothes and decided to leave it for later as he pulled over the covers to hide his private area. When he instinctively reached over to touch the wound on his shoulder, shock consumed him. _Where was it?_ He looked at Harrison who understood right away.

“I injected my blood into your veins in order to save you. It’s very… effective.”

“Really.” John looked at the smooth surface where it had once been.

Empty. Everything in his past was inside that scar and now it was gone. Just like that, right into thin air.

“Dr. Watson…?”

“We need to leave. It’s no longer safe here.” John said between short breaths. He was still adjusting to the weak condition his body was in. He looked at Harrison, studying the slightly changed features. The man actually looked tired, even though anyone else would not have noticed. “Did you spend the entire night looking after me?”

“I only returned the favour.”

“Oh, you must be tired then.”

“The past two days have been tedious, I must admit.”

“Tedious. Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing. By the way, did you call me John just now? When I was asleep I heard-”

“You were having a nightmare, Dr. Watson. You must be hearing things.”

“Is that so?” John gazed at Harrison with a hint of playfulness in his tone.

“If you are feeling well enough to irritate me then you can use that energy to eat.” Harrison grabbed a plate of corn and mashed potatoes sitting beside the glass of water. “I made a pit-stop in the next town over. Wouldn’t want to have another go at food poisoning from Bread n Brook, now would we?”

It was slightly obvious Harrison was trying to change the subject. John didn’t mind it. He was also curious about what happened at Bread n Brook.

“Food poisoning? Is that how they did it?”

“I should have noticed but-“ Harrison stopped since he couldn’t say the rest out loud which consisted of: _I was too distracted by your sulking_. “It doesn’t matter. What’s interesting is that it took effect once we got to the car. They strategically planned for this to happen soon as you saw that smiley-face. Tell me who is after you, Dr. Watson.”

“Whoever they are, why _now_? It seems I’m not the only one they’re after but also-”

“Sherlock?” Harrison questioned. “ _Oh_ … They have mistaken me for him.”

“Correct.” John answered. He hadn’t touched his meal.

“They’ve poisoned me too but my body is immune to such low grade toxins.”

“And they’re going to try again. We have to leave Brookeville.”

“And go where?”

“Back to Baker Street.”

 

 

 

The next morning consisted of packing and long overdue explanations. John told Harrison everything he could about his days with Sherlock. The now energetic doctor had noticed that it wasn’t as difficult anymore to talk about him. It almost felt like he was just talking to Sherlock about Sherlock and that was the best way he could cope with it all. Harrison quietly listened, never interrupting but only to have John clarify on certain details.

Something was off about the death of Sherlock Holmes but Harrison did not bother to address it with John, knowing it would only light the fire to an already burnt out heart.

“So we’re moving to 221B because it would only make sense for Sherlock to return there after what happened?” Harrison said. He was seated on the sofa John had slept in a few days ago.

“Yes. I have people there I can trust. And I know it’s far too much to ask this of you but I need you to be him while we’re there. There is no other way around it considering how much you look alike.” John picked a few of his jumpers from the closet, earning a curious expression from Harrison.

“But I have never met him.” Harrison continued, not looking away from the bulk of jumpers John had managed to hold in his arms, while dropping one on the floor. “How do you expect me to fool everyone let alone his brother? You said he has an older brother that works for the British Government?”

“Mycroft Holmes. He is the British Government.” John muttered, stopping short in his steps for an instant and immediately resumed to packing.

Harrison saw the look on John’s face and knew why.

“You never stopped thinking about him, did you?” They both knew who Harrison meant.

“Not for a second… Excuse me.” John cleared his throat and slid past the other man, avoiding eye contact. He made his way towards the drawers by the bed and grabbed his gun to pack.

“Since you’re such an expert on all things Sherlock Holmes, please enlighten me on our way to 221B.” It was almost a sarcastic tone but John didn’t bother giving a response. Harrison was suddenly very different from the first time they’d met. It was like he was almost… _comfortable_ with John.

“You’ve been doing that since we’ve met.”

“Doing what?”

“Watching me when you think I’m not looking.”

“The past two days must be getting to you.” John snapped shut his suitcase and made his way to the door. When he was by the driveway, the suitcase handle instantly fell out of his hand, causing a thud on the porch. “Harrison… What did you do to my car?”

John felt the taller man stand beside him. He could feel the smugness emanating from Harrison.

“I made some modifications. I figured we’d need a better getaway car.”

“It’s bloody amazing!” John grinned, as he placed his hands on the sleek black paint dried over his newly transformed BMW. “You modified the bloody hell out of my old car.”

“Two days were enough to change a couple of things. I used some parts from the ship so the windows are bullet proof and its engine is much more powerful. Not to mention the design is substantially better.”

“You didn’t steal this car, did you? This is my car, right?” John joked.

“Why steal when I can create?”

“Alright there, calm down, Da Vinci.”

Harrison looked at John, giving him a subtle grin. The two men collected all their baggage into the trunk of the car and Harrison sat in the driver’s seat, pausing to watch John looking at the small cottage.

“Coming?” Harrison asked.

The breeze picked up, throwing a group of leaves to dance past the front porch. John released a long sigh and turned around to face Harrison, not succeeding in hiding the anxiety written all over his expression.

“Yes.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Somewhere in London, a man with a decorous demeanor sat in his chair looking out the window of his extravagant home. He was a lonely looking fellow with a sharp nose, and falling corners of his lips. His mind was lost somewhere in another time. The mobile phone buzzed, alerting him of a call. He looked at it and picked it up once he read the caller ID.

“I assume you’ve found the landing spot?” He asked with an experienced tone of authority.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes. It’s a small town called Brookeville, off in the forest region. A research team has already been dispatched.”

“Brookeville? Were there any reports of sighting?”

“Negative, sir. But there has been a report of an explosion in that town that occurred twelve hours ago. Apparently someone blew up a diner; two were found dead, scalded to the bones.”

“What are the details on them?”

“A 47 year old waitress and the other was the owner, a 56 year old man.”

“Send me the report. And the surveillance tapes of all the cameras in that town.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there anything else?” Mr. Holmes asked, eyeing the window view as he waited. Drops of rain had started sliding down the windowpanes, causing the world outside into fluid portions.    

 “Yes, sir. The space craft was located near a cottage, its only residence whose name is John Hamish Watson, had also left the day after the explosion. It’s possible he had something to do with it.”

“I’ll take care of that. Just focus on the space craft for now, that’s our top priority.”

“Understood, sir.”

He hung up his phone with a slight press of his knuckle under his chin, resting his head as it conjured up a plan.

“Where are you off to now, Dr. Watson?”

 

 

* * *  
  
The hum of the engine soothed John, as he watched the landscape change from greenery to dry prairies. Sunlight beamed through the thick white clouds above, creating pillars of transparent light across the flat lands. Harrison drove the newly transformed car like it was his. The amount of control and ease he had with it made John almost admire the man even more. It wasn’t like he was seeing Sherlock driving, which was an odd sight to think of to begin with. Sherlock always preferred taking a cab for some reason. Maybe if he’d driven his own car, it would already be shot at thirty times over in the streets of London. Or maybe it wasn’t such an economical idea.

“Don’t you think Mrs. Hudson needs a call before we barge in and take the flat back?” Harrison started, making John think for a second how Harrison knew but obviously because he had told the man about Mrs. Hudson.

“You’re right. I almost forgot.” John took out his phone and immediately found Mrs. Hudson’s house number considering he had very little contacts. He pressed hard on the call button, realising she may have already found tenants for the past two years. It was too late to cancel the call now.  

“You’ve reached Hudson’s residence.” Mrs. Hudson sounded familiar but far from what John could remember, it was a flush of nostalgia far more overwhelming than he’d prepared for. There was a hint of exhaustion from her tone but if John had been a stranger, he would think she sounded like any cheerful old lady.

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson.”

There was a moment of silence before she spoke.

“Dear, is that you?” Mrs. Hudson said.

“Yes. It’s me. John Watson.” He heard a sniffle on the other line. Soon enough it was clear why, when she spoke again- her voice breaking.

“How are- How have you been, dear? Are you alright?”

 _Oh. Don’t cry._ John wanted to say.

“I’m fine, everything is… good. How have you been?”

As if having dreaded not being able to chat with anyone for months, Mrs. Hudson went off about the past two years, telling John about the things that went on at Baker Street since he left. John didn’t pay much attention to the details for he had only one thing on his mind. It was difficult but he’d managed to interrupt the excited woman.

“Is there room in 221B? The flat upstairs?” _As if she wouldn’t know if he hadn’t specified._

“Will you be coming back? The last tenant moved out couple weeks ago, dear. An odd fellow really, always quiet and never social. Only stayed a couple months, said something about the price being too much. Oh that reminds me, will you be living alone? The prices did go up a bit, sorry to say. But I will give you a handsome discount since you’re my favourite, dear.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson but that won’t be necessary.” John replied, looking at Harrison who kept his eyes on the road.

“Why so?”

“I already have someone I’m bringing. We’ll arrive with our things in a couple hours.”

“I didn’t know you’ve found yourself a little bird! Congratulations, dear! I’ll make sure to tidy up a bit but just this once. I’m not your housekeeper.”

However hard he tried to tell her that she had got it wrong, Mrs. Hudson quickly bid goodbye, rambling about some business she had to take care of at the shop. John hung up, smiling to himself.

“She’s quite an energetic old lady.” Harrison commented.

“She is.” John smiled to himself.

“Also, we’re being followed.”

When John looked at the rear-view mirror, he could see a black car, quickly catching up to them. There were no other cars for miles. Right at that moment, John’s mobile vibrated, alerting him of a text.

_Let’s meet for tea. –M_

John was baffled by the text. He looked at Harrison, who was calm and collected in the midst of this pursuit by a possibly dangerous criminal for all he knew.

_Follow that car. See you soon, Dr. Watson. –M_

The car behind them sped up. Harrison was about to hit acceleration but John placed his hand on the steering wheel, not touching the hands that were there grasping firmly. “They’re going to pass us. We have to follow them.”

“Was that text from someone you know?” Harrison asked.

“I should have known he would find us first.” John faced Harrison. His voice sounded stern but his eyes were filled with worry. “It’s Mycroft.”

“ _Ah._ It’s big brother, Mycroft Holmes.” Harrison announced, almost playful in his delivery.

John couldn’t help but wonder if the _alien_ was actually enjoying all of this while he was the only one stressed to no end.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, does he believe you’re Sherlock?”

The motel seemed to be falling apart. Abandoned and craggy in its build, the pale yellow on the walls were chipping at the corners where even the cobwebs had no habitants. It was the perfect place to have a private discussion without disturbances. John Watson had known Mycroft would find them but he hadn't expected it to be so soon. He'd been sure no one was following him or any CCTV had been focused on him for that matter. Much to his disappointment and slight relief, Mycroft had found them and there was no way around the situation at hand.

 

Harrison was seated on an old wooden chair. His posture fit perfectly with the stature of the backrest while his legs sat apart parallel to his waist. Beside him was John whose hands were together on his lap and his ankles were crossed underneath his seat. Across from them was a wide desk wiped clean not too long ago, and Mycroft sat before them in all assuming nature. Knowing Mycroft, he had the table cleaned off and disinfected beforehand. John smirked to himself at the thought but quickly rid of it soon as he spoke.

 

"It's nice to see you're doing well, Dr. Watson." Mycroft rested his intertwined hands on the table.

 

"Yes. And I hope you are too, Mycroft." John replied in the same respect.

 

"And my brother here is also doing fine by the looks of it." Mycroft raised an eyebrow at Harrison who made no expression but simply looked back at him. "Although I'm a little hurt he never bothered to visit in the past two years he’s been away."

 

"That would have made the whole _dead thing_ a bit harder to pull off, Mycroft." Harrison retorted.

 

It was Sherlock who was sitting right beside him when John heard those lines spoken in such eerie familiarity. Beside him, John saw a powerful man who had faced great adversity; Sherlock who'd gone through hell in the span of two years. John couldn't believe it. He knew it was not Sherlock, he knew it deep down but Harrison had managed to embody a man he himself had never met. How was that even possible? John knew he had talked constantly about Sherlock to Harrison but it was nowhere near to the extent of perfect articulation or replication of the essence that made Sherlock Holmes. Or maybe he had to give himself a little credit. 

 

"So why come back now? What made you come back from the river _Styx_?" Mycroft asked.

 

"That is none of your concern." Harrison replied.

 

It was dead silent. The two men were caught in a battle of the mind, fighting to get through the barrier to read each other’s deepest intentions. John cleared his throat to try to break the quiet.

 

"Look. The most important thing right now is not why Sherlock came back; it's that just recently somebody tried to kill us." John said.

 

Mycroft did not break from the staring contest. "I was informed. I checked the CCTV-"

 

John tried to hold back a grin, barely succeeding.

 

"- and found the diner burnt to the ground taking the lives of two employees. There were no traces left behind by the murderer - it was not an accident. Of course, the last part should never leave this room since this is top secret. I strongly suggest it not be known to the public." Mycroft said as he finally turned his attention at John. The smug expression on his face said he’d lost the battle but won the war with Harrison.

 

"I have an idea about who could be behind this." John said. "They left clues that only I could have known, and Sherlock knows as well."

 

"I also checked the tapes near that warehouse." Mycroft added.

 

"What did you find?" John asked.

 

"Nothing. Somehow five hours’ worth of footage was completely erased but I did manage to retrieve a shot of the paintwork, if you could call it that." Mycroft grabbed a folder from under his desk, and dropped the print outs before John and Harrison.

 

Harrison grabbed one, studying a blurry, black and white image of John's back and his, with the yellow smiley face blaring in their direction. John was looking at it as well. He leaned a bit too close to Harrison who instantly gave him a look, making John retreat and shift a bit in his seat.

 

"As of this moment we have no leads.” Mycroft interrupted the two. “My men will be looking into this further. And believe me- we will find out who did it." He and Harrison met their gazes again.

 

"John." Harrison called monotonously. John immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It still rung through his nerves as that dominating baritone penetrated his senses. "I want to talk to Mycroft in private, if you don't mind."

 

Harrison looked at John. His eyes were unreadable and John knew there was no point in staying so he nodded and left, giving Mycroft a nod too.

 

"I'll be... outside." John closed the door, hearing a creek in its hinges as it shut.

 

He looked down the darkened hallway and saw a couple of guards at the exit. John walked past them, not bothering to trade formalities. He then made a left turn that lead to a back porch with nothing in sight but the plains and clear sky. The sun was still up in the middle of the sky, beaming down on his head and shoulder with all its might. It made him squint. John shielded his eyes with a hand over his eyebrows and looked around the perimeters. When he turned the first corner, he saw two cars in the parking lot. If they hadn’t belonged to Mycroft and himself, it would have looked oddly suspicious. An extravagant, black automobile at a run-down motel’s parking lot in the middle of nowhere was a Bond’s movie waiting to happen. But there weren’t any other cars for miles, no large trucks or helicopters about to swoop in and blow stuff up. The gas station was a few yards back and that only had a scruff RV sitting in the corner.

 

John tired of his sightseeing instantly as he'd begun and the heat was no help. He walked over to his car, still in awe at the work Harrison had put into it. It looked unique to say the least- very futuristic. Maybe Harrison had also built the shuttle himself? John hadn't had time to think about anything else ever since this doppelganger appeared in his life but now he had few minutes to himself. When he got inside the car, he was shocked that a wave of suffocating heat hadn't hit him in the face. John was pretty sure Harrison had something to do with that since normally a black car left out in the sun absorbs heat like a sponge in water.

 

Through the window there was nothing but cement road and dirt. The doors were locked, the windows were rolled up so hot air couldn't penetrate the inside of the car and engine was turned off. John laid back in the driver's seat, leaving his hands on the wheel. He closed his eyes after turning on the radio and the melancholy tune of _Claire de Lune_ filled the room. John could feel his chest relaxing. He hadn't felt this serene in a long time. How long? He couldn’t remember. It occurred to him that the river by his cottage seemed to sooth his senses just the same way whenever he used to take walks. In winter it would freeze over and he would just sit in a patch of grass, enjoying the soundless fall of snow and soft kisses from the icy wind. The most intricate designs would appear on the surface and John would study it for as long as he wanted until he found a queer shape or form. Usually they didn’t form anything besides objects like trees or stars but this one time, the intertwining jagged lines had joined with the feathery cracks in the ice and together they had formed a face. And at first he assumed it was a stranger. He couldn't recognize the man or more so the boy, but then again it was _just ice_. But as he looked closer, got on his knees and palms in the snow, and leaned over the frozen river, he saw his own reflection beside the ice sculpture. The cracks had formed what seemed like a much younger version of himself. It was the oddest thing and John remembered thinking he’d gone crazy. That maybe isolation had finally turned him insane but as he took out his flushed hands and started wiping a layer of snow off the face, it was clear  that it was indeed a crooked, shining sculpture of his teenage self.  It was faint. It was very thin and if he’d shut one eye, it would look like any other jumble of lines however; he managed to realize that that version of him was long gone. Just like the figure, his youthful self had frozen over in time and was buried under erratic carvings and cracks inside him. For all he knew, this was some sort of illusion he had made for himself but it had occurred to him then that he had lost something after Sherlock. Something he’d already lost once and found again when they’d met for the first time. Sherlock had taken use of the cracks and sharp edges in him and broken the wall down, not minding the cold, still waters long frozen over. Sherlock had extended out his own icy hands toward John and pulled him out of the receding depths drowning him. He had set a match inside him, putting fuel to the flame that had died out long ago. He had resurrected what was left of John and he probably never meant to do any it. It was probably just an accident but it was what had saved him.

 

Sherlock Holmes. A fast talking, hard hitting man, who turned out to be the most caring and loyal friend he could have ever asked for, was gone forever. John knew deep down that he was irreplaceable.

 

A muffled knocking on the window snapped John out of his sleep. The face of Sherlock Holmes looked at him from the other side of the bullet proof glass. John wiped his eyes out of its drowsiness and stepped out of the car.

 

“All done?” Harrison asked.

 

“I should ask you that. What did you have to talk to Mycroft about?”

 

“Extraneous matters. We’re leaving. Off to Baker Street now.” Harrison got into the car while John walked around from the front. The engine came to life.

 

“So I’m assuming that he’s going to help us.” John plopped into his seat and buckled up.

 

“Define _help_.”

 

“Well, does he believe you’re Sherlock?”

 

“Define _believe_.”

 

“Wow, it’s like you’re possessed by the ghost of Sherlock Holmes.” John retorted.

 

“A bit too soon for that joke, isn’t it?” Harrison smirked.

 

“It’s been two bloody years. I have all the right to be bitter.” John sighed.

 

“That you do, Dr. Watson.”

 

John internally bit his tongue realizing Harrison had gone back to calling him that. With that thought in mind, Baker Street couldn’t have come any sooner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does it feel like a Supernatural ending of each chapter with them driving off in a black car. But anyways, thank you for reading and I wish to say HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU ALL! And also HAPPY SEASON 3! I have seen it but I wrote this chapter before I did btw. I hope this sufficed as an update. Thank you so much for your continued support. xx 
> 
> Also I made a little fanfic trailer for this. ^^
> 
> SPOILER ALERT FOR SEASON 3 OF SHERLOCK  
> http://eloquentish.tumblr.com/post/72513736946/john-harrison-khan-crashes-in-london-back-500


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